


phoenix

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Choking, Collars, Creampie, Crying, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Figging, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Knotting Dildos, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Mild Blood, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints, Sadism, Scent Kink, Stuffing, Sub Will Graham, Top Hannibal Lecter, Triple Penetration, Violet Wand, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "You are so beautiful when you cry, darling. When every inch of you is red and wet for me." He shivers, growls out a soft, wanting sound, and kisses Will's neck over the collar. "Seeing you like this makes me want to take you all over again."





	phoenix

If there is one thing Will would change about Hannibal, it is his endless patience. He has been in this room for God knows how long, bound and panting, his arms above his head and his feet tied to each of the bottom bedposts, keeping him spread and ready on his belly for whenever Hannibal decides to come and use him.

He hasn't, for hours – days? Will can't tell. He's thirsty and sore and desperately needs to move. Hannibal bound him and then fucked him mercilessly, one hand around Will's throat so tight that, even now, it hurts to swallow. His ass is abused, fucked open from Hannibal's cock, until he came, and then used the slick of his come to force a huge knotting toy into Will, fucking him brutally with it until Will sobbed through his orgasm, and then he kept going, forcing Will's body to take it over and over again – he would pull it out until the knot popped free, then shove it back in until Will cried and begged him to stop.

But Hannibal doesn't stop, not unless Will safewords. He might have to, if Hannibal intends to do that again. The pleasure had been so sharp, so brutal, he doesn't know if he could bear it a second time, strung out and trembling as he is.

The pool of his come has long-since gone dry and tacky, chafes his flaccid cock and rubs at his belly in a way that makes him want to scream. He twists his wrists, tests the horrible friction of the rope that has turned them pink and welting. It's just as futile as when he first tried, and his fingers are pale and shaking, twitching when he tries to move them.

The collar around his neck, that Hannibal put on him after he was done choking Will until his vision greyed out, is thick and wet with his sweat, rubs his skin raw, and hurts him when he tries to swallow or stretch his jaw. It's agony, waiting like this, knowing he's nothing more than a warm hole and slick flesh for Hannibal to use as he sees fit.

Finally, _finally_, he hears the door open, and moans with relief, his shoulders rolling up and his head bowing down to rub his sweaty forehead against the sheets. There are no pillows on this bed, no blankets, and when Hannibal's hand gently settles in the dip of his spine, he's suddenly so cold.

"Please," he whispers. "Please. Let me up."

Hannibal laughs, in that cruel way he does when he's feeling in a taunting mood. "Why would I do that?" he purrs, slicking his hand down Will's sweaty, aching spine. Then, up, and he cups Will's chin and forces him to lift his head. Will sobs at the press of a cool glass of water to his lips, eagerly drinks, sloppy-wet, it spills down his cheeks and chin, but he drinks it all, his stomach cramping in protest at the introduction of cold water, his teeth aching at the clink of ice.

Hannibal sighs, and sets the glass to one side, his weight dipping the bed between Will's thighs. He pushes at Will's flesh, makes him spread wider until Will's hips ache, and he moans and lets his head drop again. "Hush, sweet boy," he murmurs, and Will groans when he feels Hannibal's weight push on his back until it cracks, and then Hannibal's cock slips, leaking and hard, against his fucked-open, wet rim.

Hannibal shoves into him, and Will bites the sheet, so he doesn't scream. Hannibal growls, one hand wrapped tight and tugging in Will's hair, his other planted on Will's back to keep him down, and he pulls savagely, thrusting viciously into Will's body like it's personally angered him. It hurts, makes his toes curl and his fingers clench, as Hannibal fucks the breath from his shivering lungs, pulls his thighs tight together and straddles them so he can get deeper.

"You've tightened remarkably since I left you last," Hannibal says, and he sounds breathless. Will likes that; his stomach tenses up, heat blooming in his chest and spiraling lazily down, his cock hardening at the sound of Hannibal as his noises turn ragged and raw. Will clenches up for him further, aching, aching -. "Good boy, Will, that's it, show me how much you want it."

Will isn't sure he does, but the alternative, another prolonged piece of time where he's alone and aching, is unthinkable. He whimpers as Hannibal pulls on his hair, dips his fingers beneath Will's collar and tugs on it until he's being choked. Tears spill out without conscious permission, and he lifts his head, knowing Hannibal can smell them.

Hannibal's hand leaves his hair, and Will screams as he's struck, suddenly, on his tender ass. "Beg," Hannibal demands, and Will whines again, bares his teeth against the sheets, rolls his entire body up into Hannibal's grip to try and save his neck.

"Please," he gasps, breathless, his vision going grey at the edges. "Please, Hannibal, fuck me. Fill me up – I'll be good, I'll -." He will. He'll do anything Hannibal wants if Hannibal lets him up after this.

Hannibal snarls, and fucks in deep, going still and coming with a low, sated sound. Will winces at the flood of come leaking out past his sore rim, tightens because he doesn't like wasting it, and Hannibal pulls out without ceremony, releases Will's collar, and gives him a pat both affectionate and patronizing.

"Good boy," he purrs, and kisses Will's sweaty hair. "I have a present for you, darling. Spread your legs for me."

Will doesn't have it in him to disobey. He parts his thighs and shivers when Hannibal spreads him wide, thumbs at his raw, aching hole, and then his weight shifts, and Will feels something blunt pressing against it. He whines, thinking it might be the knotting toy again, and flinches from it, but Hannibal's nails dig into the small of his back, and he has nowhere to run.

"Hold still," Hannibal commands, and pushes the thing in. It's not the knotting toy, but it's bulbous and rough against his tender insides. Will frowns, blinking rapidly, trying to figure out what Hannibal has put inside him.

He clenches up experimentally, and gasps when, suddenly, the burn starts.

"Oh, _God_," he cries, his struggles starting anew as he realizes Hannibal has put a knot of ginger inside him. The thing burns, and every movement makes it hurt worse – Hannibal's come has softened the entry, but now Will knows what it is, and he knows how much it hurts. He cries out weakly as Hannibal works the ginger inside him, a knot of it bulging insistently against his prostate, and he shivers and moans when the burn gets worse, and worse, and -.

He hears Hannibal grab for something else, and then he's being yanked up by the hair again, and a cool, slim ball of glass is being shoved behind his teeth, a strip of leather connecting each side of it to his collar so he can't spit it out. There is a wire coming out of it, attached to something he can't see, but he knows what it is.

Hannibal's face swims into his field of vision, and he lets out a pathetic, wrecked sound. Hannibal smiles, kisses his forehead, and pulls away to turn the thing on. The sparks start on Will's tongue, make him spasm and clench up full-body, which just makes the knot of ginger burn more fiercely in his ass. He can't escape it – it ricochets through his teeth, down the back of his throat, down his spine as Hannibal pets a half-inch above it, making sparks jump between their skin.

Will convulses. The electric current in the wand isn't high, but his abused throat shrieks in protest at the electric shocks, his body floods with pain from both the electricity and the burn of the ginger. The tears that fall just make the pain worse, as each one disconnects from his cheeks and jaw, licks him with lightning, and falls to the bed.

_This _is agony. This is pure, unrivaled torture. He sobs and trembles as Hannibal goes back to fucking him with the ginger, and every time his muscles convulse and loosen, another spark makes them tighten again, and the burn hurts so badly, he feels like he's on fire from both ends.

Then, he feels another push at his ass, and moans. Hannibal got the knotting toy back out after all.

He shakes his head fiercely – he can't possibly take both things at once. He hears Hannibal laugh, cruel and low, and Will is too loose, too weak, to resist him. He shoves the dildo in until the knot stretches Will at his widest and he screams loudly around the wand acting as a gag.

He yanks on the ropes, with feet and hands, feels them cutting and chafing at his skin as he tries to fight free. He might break something, but anything is better than this; fuck, _fuck_, it hurts so badly, and every inch of him is alive and trembling and on fire with electricity and that awful burn. He's openly salivating, trying to gentle the sting of the wand in his mouth, but it does nothing but make the shocks travel further down his throat, into the roof of his mouth, making his nose twitch and his lips shiver around it.

Oh God, oh _God_, oh -. Hannibal works the knot fully into him, makes the ginger press fierce against his prostate, and the sounds Will lets out at that are barely human; too wretched, too ragged and raw.

He feels Hannibal's touch in his hair, tingles of lightning passing between them as Hannibal gently pets through his sweat-damp curls. The pressure on his prostate is agony, he's sure his mouth will be burned by the end even though he knows that, practically, Hannibal keeps the voltage far too low to do real harm. But he's shaking and trembling with sensation and he can't fucking move, he can't get away, he can't – he can't -.

"Sweet boy," Hannibal breathes, and kisses his ear, and the shock of lips to red flesh makes Will spasm and cry. "You are so beautiful when you cry, darling. When every inch of you is red and wet for me." He shivers, growls out a soft, wanting sound, and kisses Will's neck over the collar. "Seeing you like this makes me want to take you all over again."

God, _please_. At least if Hannibal is inside him, that damn ginger and knotting toy isn't. He nods frantically, turns his head and butts his cheek against Hannibal's smooth jaw, and hopes he gets the point across.

Hannibal smiles against his cheek, licks over where he's reddest, and abruptly straightens. Will gasps as he feels the restraints around his feet go loose, and then Hannibal is rolling him, and securing him again on his back. The new position shoves both knot and ginger deeper into him and Will arches, writhing, and screams to the ceiling.

Hannibal straddles his thighs, keeping his legs together, and Will flinches when his hand comes down, hard, around Will's throat, squeezing until he can't breathe. Will's eyes can barely open, but he makes them, staring up at Hannibal as Hannibal chokes him. He's red, too, sweaty and flushed and so Goddamn beautiful. Will whimpers, arching his hips, hoping to entice.

Hannibal smiles at him, and leans down to kiss him around the base of the wand. He reaches up, unhooks it, and removes it from Will's mouth. It's still on, and strikes Will behind his teeth and the tip of his tongue as Hannibal removes it, and then he's gasping, moaning loudly, and yanks on the bindings securing his hands above his head.

"Please," he rasps, barely a word, barely enough air and voice to be a word. "Please, Hannibal, _please_ -."

It hurts so much, and Hannibal is sitting on him in such a way he can't push it out, can't fight himself free. More tears spill, and Hannibal smiles when he sees them, thumb swiping across Will's cheek, and he lifts it to his mouth to taste.

His lashes flutter, and he sighs. "Lovely," he purrs, and slides back, reaching down between Will's forced-closed thighs and grabbing the base of the dildo, angling it up so that the ginger is forced out of the way, and Will gets pressure on his prostate that doesn't burn as bad, but the rest of him does.

Then, Hannibal grabs the wand and, with a smile, works that inside Will too.

"Hannibal, _please_," Will cries, arching as, now, lightning and fire and that too-full feeling stretch him wide and thin, until he feels no stronger than porcelain and he's been set too close to the edge of a table. His chest heaves, shudders, and Hannibal smiles down at him as he tries to fight his hands free again. He feels skin give, too chafed and raw to bear it, and smells the iron-slick of his own blood as it beads and drips down his wrists.

Hannibal's nostrils flare, his eyes black and wide as he watches Will try to escape, before his lips spread in another savage, cruel smile. "Look at you," he purrs, low, his eyes raking down Will brazenly, skinning him as easily as one of his knives might a carcass. Will might be transparent, for how closely Hannibal watches his fluttering heart. "Tender and weak and, now, delicious, I'm sure. I could just eat you up, darling."

Will whimpers, in no condition to speak, just to try and escape, and he can't escape, Hannibal made damn sure of that. Hannibal's head tilts, his eyes flash, and then he slides back further, lifts until he can push one of Will's knees out, and unceremoniously removes the knotting dildo with a harsh tug that makes Will whine.

It's better, without the stretch, but _fuck_ it still hurts, it hurts so badly Will can hardly see anymore through his tears. Hannibal's lips twitch, and he tilts his head further, and then turns the wand off, and works it out of Will.

Finally, the ginger comes free, and Will is openly crying in relief.

Hannibal hums, and lifts it to the light, shows Will that it's smeared with Hannibal's seed, lubricant making it shine. He smiles with too many teeth and leans up over Will, works his jaws apart, and shoves it into his mouth. It feels like salt on a blister, Will's tongue and teeth and the back of his throat sore from the electricity, and he sobs, lips twitching back to try and save them, as he bites down around the ginger, tastes Hannibal and that particular sharp sourness of the root. The skin of it splits, and leaks juice onto his tongue.

Hannibal rears back, and Will lifts his hips in readiness, because if Hannibal wants to fuck him, maybe he will, and then this can all be over. He's lightheaded, dizzy with pain, thirsty and hungry and desperate and he just needs, _needs, _Hannibal to be satisfied.

Hannibal grabs the knotted dildo, and forces it back inside, and Will groans when he immediately angles the ridge at the bottom of it, below the tip and before the bulbs of the knot, upwards, so it grinds mercilessly against his prostate.

"Show me," he commands, and wraps a hand around Will's cock. His fingers carry lingering sharpness from the ginger, burn Will's sensitive flesh, but he hardens because he can't fucking help himself when Hannibal looks at him like that. "Good boy, that's it – show me how much you like taking what I give you."

Will whimpers, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks as he bites down on the ginger hard enough he knows his teeth are close to meeting. The roof of his mouth burns from it, his tongue aches as though it's been dipped in salt, his teeth feel almost numb.

Still, he's hard, because Hannibal always knows just how to touch him.

He yanks on his binds, shrieks when more blood wells, staining his inner elbows, the bottom of his biceps. There's so much of it – he's wet everywhere, ginger and blood and slick and Hannibal's come. He's red, blushing down to his belly, his cock so hard it hurts, everything hurts.

And then Hannibal grips the base of the dildo, angles it up and strokes Will's cock, and everything goes white.

He arches from the bed with a choked, ragged sound, trying desperately to breathe around the burn in his mouth, the juddering spasms of his stomach, so hard he's cramping, as he spills thick and wet over his belly and Hannibal's hand. Squeezes the knot so hard it would be forced out if Hannibal didn't keep it wedged so deeply inside him.

Hannibal smiles, and snarls with satisfaction, forcing the knot to keep grinding against his abused prostate, his hand continuing to stroke Will, squeezing the head cruelly, thumbing through the slit, clamping down around the base and giving Will the pressure he normally likes so much. But it's agony, it hurts so much, all Will can do is lie there and twitch and weep and try, still, futilely, to get away.

Hannibal smiles at him, sighing happily, and finally releases him. He works the knot out and Will moans in relief. He removes the ginger and Will can only pant and gasp, too sore even to swallow, saliva pooling in his mouth and leaking out when he tilts his head to one side. Hannibal removes the collar around his throat, letting him breathe. He undoes the ropes from Will's ankles and wrists, and kisses the blistering, bleeding welts there.

He returns all the toys to the bedside table, so he can clean them later, and then rolls Will onto his belly and presses flat over him, as Will desperately needs after an intense scene. Will turns his head, tries to curl up as much as he can, shoulders rising to protect his bruised neck, arms under his chest.

Hannibal embraces him, shields his eyes and shuts out the light, and presses a series of worshipful kisses to Will's purple and blue nape, up into his sweaty hair, so wet it's almost black. Pushes his stomach and chest to Will's back until their bodies find the natural curve of each other, and cages Will's thighs in with his own.

He nuzzles Will's tears from his cheeks. He doesn't ask how Will is feeling – he won't, for a while, until Will can bear looking at him again, until he can claw himself back from the pain and the ache and revel in the endorphin high. He can feel it, teetering on the edges of his consciousness, that porcelain plate ready to tumble and shatter on the ground.

One of Hannibal's hands threads through his hair, turns Will's head just enough so Hannibal can kiss his cheek, and Will's lips twitch in a tired smile. He's too sore for a proper kiss, and Hannibal knows that. His mouth burns, throat clenching as it gets used to its new freedom, his spine tense and legs and arms trembling.

He sighs, and swallows, and as Hannibal's heat lulls him under, he lifts one shaking, tired arm, stained with blood and sweat, and curls his fingers through Hannibal's hair in answer. He feels Hannibal shiver – just because he was the one in control this time doesn't mean he doesn't need affection afterwards, too. Will knows that, and gives it when he can.

"I love you," he breathes, though his abused tongue and numb teeth turn the words into barely a whisper, a soft lilt of pitch that's known to anyone who has ever said it.

Hannibal smiles, and shivers for him again, and kisses his red cheek. He doesn't say it back, because Will is too raw and damaged to hear it, but his arms tighten around Will, and he lays a hand over Will's eyes, easing him into the darkness. He kisses Will's neck, and that feels like an 'I love you' all the same.


End file.
